


Sulfur & Lightning

by RideBoldlyRide



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: ATLA Big Bang 2020, Angst, Boiling Rock divergent, Canon Divergence, Character Death, F/M, Full honesty, Gen, Mai dies at the boiling rock, Mai dies immediately, Mai dies right away, Multiple Drabbles, One Shot, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Sorry maiko folks, b3 divergent, if ty lee was too slow, what happens if ty lee is too slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27359299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RideBoldlyRide/pseuds/RideBoldlyRide
Summary: Like the ripples in water, repercussions follow action, or inaction. When Zuko left, he knew that he would hurt Mai. There was just no way around it. When he showed up at the Boiling Rock, Sokka in tow, he knew that there would be a lot of risk, including to himself. When Mai showed up, his letter in hand, at the Boiling Rock, he knew that it was time for a reckoning.Except - It wasn’t in that cell. No, his reckoning was as he watched Mai, standing tall, face down Azula. It was when he watched his sister slide into her stance, watched Mai pull her sebon, watched Ty Lee bolt into action. Mai was fast, yes, but there’s little else in the world faster than lightning.Now, there were new consequences.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101
Collections: ATLA Big Bang 2020





	Sulfur & Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a wild ride, and this story would not be here if it wasn't for my lovely betas and artists, let alone all the mods that arranged this years, Big Bang!!
> 
> Special love to my betas, **<https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/oceantail-oceantail>**
> 
> A special shout-out to Oceantail for her rendition of the segment entitled "Yue's Light". She recorded and composed that as a complete surprise, and helped me embed it into the actual fic. It's such a beautiful gift!! ❤️
> 
> , **<https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/geekinthecorner>**
> 
> , **<https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/burnt-oranges>**
> 
> . And my artists, **<https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/wingsdingsandpurplethings>**
> 
> and **<https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/houser-of-stories>**
> 
> Houser-of-stories provided the beautiful calligraphy and wingsdingsandpurplethings provided the moldboard! Go check them out on their Tumblr's, listed above!! ^^^

****

**Sulfur**

There’s a unique smell, Zuko finds, when sulfur-filled air is electrified. This realization he acknowledges with the same cold detachment of other random bits of information he’s gleaned over the years. He files it away with the sound of soft, young flesh crackling under intense heat, the taste of nightshade hidden in mango juice, the sensation of falling without any recognizable salvation. It’s the only way he knows how to process what he sees before him. 

She stands proud, dark, frustratingly blank before Azula. He can’t hear her words, but he recognizes the stance. Whatever she is doing, Mai was completely dedicated to. He had been surprised when she had first appeared on that landing platform. Even more surprised when she began to get between the guards and the coil of thick woven steel that carried the gondola further away from their captivity. 

They are hanging over the precipice, the sulfur-scented steam curling around the shape of the rectangular coffin that Zuko recognizes the gondola to be. He is just as jarred and surprised as the other members of the gondola, when it jerks up and away, beginning it’s ascent to the rim of the volcano. 

“Who is that?” Sokka draws his attention to the back window. Zuko’s good eye strains against the steam and glare. 

He feels his jaw go slack.

“It’s Mai!”

She is like a wraith on the light steel; dark, darting and sliding, her opponents falling like candles snuffed. But for all of her actions, there are simply too many. Through attrition, she finds no victory, and soon stands surrounded. With a stony expression, his sister steps in front of her friend. Even from the distance, he can see the discontent in Ty Lee’s stance, hovering somewhere between the two squaring off before her. Azula jerks forward, venom on her lips, and Mai slips into her fighting stance, closed, a senbon in hand. 

Zuko feels his heart in his throat.

A blur of pink catches his attention, but it isn’t enough. 

Whatever Azula has sneered, her arms twist and her body turns, a flicker of bright white at her fingertips. 

No. 

In a flash, a senbon flies. He knows this only because his sister stumbles back, the silver glint embedded in her shoulder. The stumble only places her further into Ty Lee’s reach. Quick jabs, and the ironically smaller woman falls bonelessly to the floor. 

Opposite of her, the dark clad figure had steps back, smoke curling from her center. 

Zuko watches with unbridled horror. 

Mai turns, raising her eyes to the gondola, her back still as straight as a knife’s edge. There are no final words on her lips, no protest, no cry, not even tears streaking her face. 

Like a puppet cut from it’s strings, she falls. 

It’s there, an ache immediately blooming in his chest, but he twists it, molds it. As learned and trained as the fire in his hands, the ache escapes him as a bloom of rage. There are no words on his lips, merely a roar and flames.

Even as the fire fades into nothing, his breath comes hot and fast, and with it a promise of justice. 

**Tightrope**

It’s a balancing act, she thinks. 

The twist, the turn. Azula would have been an amazing tightrope walker, if she had ever cared. Ty Lee knew she didn’t care.

There had been no question, nothing to stop her from reaching out, from trying to stop it all. Mai was falling, she knew, and if she did nothing, there would be no Mai. 

When she was first learning the tightrope, her instructor had been a kind woman, soft, her words never louder than they needed to be. (In this suspended moment, she found how much she appreciated her instructor; Azula was always loud, always bigger than life). However, during one of the many practices, she had seen one of the other acrobats practicing above her, miss her grip change. In that split second, the woman had plummeted. Ty Lee, without thinking, reached out - after all, she had fallen right next to her. 

There was no solid ground as she stretched out. She felt the woman’s grip on her wrist even as she felt the rope slip out from under her. 

Together, they fell.

They had been fortunate that day. A net had been strung properly- they both had only been sore for a day after the fact. 

Her instructor, however, had been furious. The older woman’s face was flushed, eyes flashing as she loudly berated Ty Lee.

_‘What did you do?’_

_‘I helped!’ she had responded cheerfully._

_‘No! You fell!’ Dark eyes flashed like a lion-bear’s. ‘What did you do?!’_

_‘I saw someone falling and I tried to help!’_

_“Ty Lee, stop and think!! What. Did. You._ Do _?’_

_‘I…’ Her words had stopped in her throat. ‘I reached out.’_

_‘Yes.’ Those ebony eyes pierced her. ‘Yes, you did. Did you stop Kai from falling?!’_

_Her gray eyes shot over to the hesitantly grateful acrobat across from her._

_‘No.’_

_‘Then what did you do?’_

_“I did it without thinking.’_

_‘Yes, you did. And?’_

_‘I…’_

_Sighing, the older woman kneeled down to eye level with the still prone Ty Lee. Her eyes softened as she gazed at the aspiring acrobat._

_‘Were you centered?’_

_Ty Lee started to nod, but was cut short as her instructor continued._

_‘But were you prepared to reach? Had you centered yourself before you moved?’_

_Recognition dawned in her eyes._

_‘No! I - I did it without thinking! I wasn’t ready!’ Comprehension made her giddy._

_The sage woman nodded, a severe expression on her face in contrast._

_‘Every time you fail to prepare, every time you don’t center yourself before taking action - you will always fall.’_

Ty Lee was not prepared for Mai’s actions let alone for Azula’s. She reacts before she centers herself, unprepared.

She falls.

They both do.

**Lightning**

It is _his_ fault. 

It is _always_ his fault.

Why can’t Zuko just go away? Doesn’t he know that no one wants him around?

_(You do, you always have)_

She loved Zuko. Good. That’s what Azula had always planned for. Mai and Zuko.

_(You didn’t plan, there was nothing to plan. They always liked each other.)_

Azula had primed and prepped. Encouraged and fostered. It’s always easier to control with heartstrings.

_(You were jealous. It was always jealousy.)_

Never could she have foreseen Mai defiant before her. Never could she have imagined her dismissal of fear. Fear that Azula is rightfully entitled to. 

_(You had seen the tears when he left. Mai never cries, but she had cried then. You knew.)_

Azula had overplayed her hand - had encouraged, nurtured the romance too far. If Mai was not going to cower by choice…

_(Mai never cowers, you know this. She bows and scrapes, but never cowers.)_

… well, then, Azula really has no choice. She twists the two parts of her; the part that spoke of honor, respect, fear, fathers, static, and the part that spoke of love, nurture, softness, mothers and flames. When they crash together, they slip past her fingers along with her cry of frustration. 

Jabs slip rapidly past her guard, rounding from her unguarded flank, and her arm goes limp followed swiftly by the rest of her body.

Mai falls.

_(You fall.)_

**Boomerang**

He stumbles out of the gondola. If Sokka was not in more of a rush, he might have fallen to his knees and kissed the dirt below him. Behind him, his father, Suki - _Suki_! - and Chit Sang followed suit. The warden is still over the shoulder of the behemoth of a man that Chit Sang is. Sokka watches Hakoda gesture for the other man to return the warden to the gondola, but as he does, they pause. Slowly stepping out of the gondola, Zuko is dazed, his eyes taking it all in, but nothing seems to spark recognition.

As the warden is replaced in the gondola, Zuko follows the motion with his eyes. 

“Zuko?” Sokka’s voice is hesitant, cautious.

The once-Crown Prince stands before the warden, head bowed. Spitting rage, the warden strains against his bonds, eyes wide and vitriol attempting to escape his gag. Sokka rested a hand on Zuko’s shoulder, startling him out of his reverie.

With the start, Zuko shares a glance with Sokka before returning his dark gaze to the older man before him.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever I can to fix this.” 

The warden finds his feet, and surges towards Zuko, but Hakoda is faster. With a slam, the door to the gondola closes and meets the warden’s face simultaneously. The sound seems to break Zuko’s stupor, Sokka is relieved to find, but as they race along the rim of the volcano for an escape route, it seems his newly-found friend’s mind is far away. 

So when Zuko stops, meeting Sokka’s eyes solidly, he listens without argument. There is a route for escape, Zuko is certain, and he is right. His sister’s air barge sits perched where he expects it. While the prison escapees took up the charge to keep the fires burning, Zuko and Sokka man the helm, the only two with a working knowledge of the vessel.

As Sokka steadied their course properly north, he turned his attention to Zuko.

“Who was that?”

He jumps as if stung. Sokka has a feeling he knows who the girl was, but he isn’t about to make any assumptions. He knows what they say about assumptions…

“It was Mai.”

It is eerily familiar to find her name on his lips, again high above the clouds. The first time had been reverent; the second time, remorseful. Sokka locks the wheel in place, moving to his friend’s side. Tentatively, he rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“She was brave. Whatever the reason, it was brave.”

“It was my fault.”

Sokka shakes his head.“There’s no way you could know that. She might just have been done with Azu--”

“No.” The rasp in Zuko’s voice is sharp. Slowly, he sinks down before the wheel, settling into a lotus position. He raises his hand to his forehead. 

“I _saw_ her, Sokka.” His voice is soft and Sokka strains to hear it. “She came and visited me right before the riot, and she was mad.” 

“Because you had left?”

Zuko nodded.

His brow furrowed, Sokka steps forward. “That sounds like she wouldn’t have-”

“I hurt her. When I left with only a letter, it hurt her. Of course it did.”

“But-” Sokka stops himself. Golden eyes had lifted from the metal plating of the floor, begging him to stop talking and listen.

So listen, he did.

“I left her a letter. A spirits-damned letter. What was I thinking?”

A pause. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if to ground out the afterimage of the past hour. When he speaks again, his voice is cracking.

“I- I think I loved her, Sokka.”

His words are like a dagger to the warrior’s heart, and Sokka can sit still no longer. Locking down his part of the helm, he turns back to Zuko. There is a new level of understanding, and he moves to sit across from the fracturing young man.

Cross legged, Sokka rests his chin in his hand, his elbow perched upon his bent knee. He starts softly.

“Remember the girlfriend I told you about?”

An angry eye peaks over the fingers that are now rubbing mercilessly across his face.“Sokka, I’m not in the mood for some sort of joke.”

Sokka’s lips pull down into a frown. “You think I was being a smartass when I told you about Yue?”

Zuko’s brow raises skeptically. “She turned into the moon.”

“Yes.”

“And you expect me to take that seriously?”

“Believe whatever you want, Zuko. But Yue was my first love. Don’t get me wrong—“ his hands shoot up in placation, “I love Suki, and she’s the girl for me. But I also know that I wouldn’t have been able to love Suki like I do, without having loved Yue first.”

“That’s great and all,” Zuko says, his words biting, and he lets his hands fall to his lap, a slight scowl starting at the corner of his lips, “but I fail to see why you’re telling me this.”

“She died, Zuko.” Sokka pauses, his face twisting oddly. “Well, not ‘died’, but she gave up her life for us. For all of us. Remember the siege on the north?”

“How could I forget it?”

“Zhao killed the spirit, the koi.”

“Uncle mentioned that, yeah.”

“When the sky turned red, there wasn’t much anyone could do. But Yue, she had been given life from the Moon Spirit, Tui. So when it was time… well, Yue felt she couldn’t do anything else. She gave her life so that the moon would shine again."

A long stretch of silence spreads between them, and both of the broken young men stare down at their hands. The slightest tremor runs through Sokka’s fingers, and the fissure that had laid untended in his heart aches like a badly set bone. It still tingles d at the edge of his fingertips-- the feeling of her skin-- just out of reach. He shakes his head, turning to take in his companion.

Zuko’s knees are drawn up in front of him, his elbows on his knees. His piercing gaze is not on anything, not really, but seemingly through his hands, the metal of the airship, the cloud cover, the distance. He is still on the gondola as it shifted away, pulling him from the woman who had died for him.

Sokka doesn’t have to ask. He knows.

Abstractly, he wonders if the moon will be out tonight.

**Yue’s Light**

_Stars hang far_

_Dark, deep, pitted_

_Muted lights, distant_

_Yue hides below the horizon_

_Sea below roars_

_Angry, raging, vast_

_Pitiless and empty_

_La is relentless and unforgiving_

_Fire burns in_

_Sparks splinter forth_

_Lightning like a curse_

_Agni has fallen deaf and blind_

_Anger constricts_

_Sorrow ebbs and flows_

_Pain burns deep_

_The burn is white, moon white._

**Tumultuous Sea**

He feels it more than sees it. His daughter’s eyes track him as he turns away from the chittering crowd to follow the disappearing shadow that holds the shape of Zuko. Her eyes are sharp and pained, and while Hakoda senses there is more to their story, he feels no need to press at the moment. Instead, he lets Katara’s eyes drill into his back, and follows the retreating boy. 

Zuko had stayed silent once he had returned back to the boilers, but the set of his shoulders, the edge to his motions--Hakoda was all too familiar with the pain of loss. He had watched with haunted blue eyes as Zuko stepped with purpose, with pain, as he went through the motions of survival. In the silence between, Hakoda could almost hear the snow crunching below his feet, the icy winds over the tundras. There was the almost-touch of Bato’s hand on his shoulder, and his words--

_“Hakoda. You should rest.”_

_“I’ll rest when my children can awaken to their mother’s kiss.”_

**_“Hakoda.”_ **

\-- and the long empty part of his heart hurts. It’s dull and always there, but it flares like the arthritic thumb joint in his left hand when the winter wind blows on it, or when the rain is coming. Deftly, he moves past the pain, resolving to keep an eye on the outcast Fire Prince.

So when they arrive at the Western Air Temple, and the boy instantly turns aside at the happy reunions, he quickly follows.

When Hakoda finds him, Zuko is at the edge of the world, and Hakoda can see that he’s tottering close to the precipice. Sparks are at his knuckles and with every breath, he is silhouetted by a haze of yellow and red. 

Pausing for a moment, Hakoda takes in the sight, and feels the ache again. Even as he steps forward, ready to announce his presence, the firebender sucks in a deep breath before throwing his head back and releasing plumes of fire and smoke from his lips. 

In the fire, he can see--

_The simple mat they drew out of their home, the furs drawn over her cold body, stained red and scorched black._

In the fire, he can smell--

_The smoke that still lingered on her, even as he and his mother washed her skin, in preparation for her final voyage._

In the fire, he can feel--

_The burning anger that fueled him to sleepless nights, to stare out at the empty waters, to curse the men who lived in smoke and ash._

As the fire dies down, he watches Zuko slip to his knees and sway. Hakoda is at his side in an instant, a steadying hand at his shoulder.

“Son, breathe.”

Golden eyes stare sightless up at the ceiling, silver tracks spilling down his cheeks. His mouth is agape, and Hakoda knows the wordless pain of loss. Without a second thought, the older man pulls him in tight, holding him like he did his children when--

_He can smell it before he sees it, but he prays to the spirits, to the gods, to whoever is listening, that he is wrong, and he cries out, and he’s not sure to which one; his wife or his daughter. For Katara is there right before him, her hands already at the furs that cover the door, and his feet follow her directly after._

_It’s an image he will never forget- it’s seared as deeply into his mind as the cavernous scorch where his wife’s chest used to be. Instantly, the bile is at his mouth, but he bites it back. Kya is sightless, and there is nothing more he can do for her but mourn. It’s a calloused, distant emotion that settles over his shoulders and he reaches, not for his lost wife, but for the young girl who now kneels in her mother’s still warm blood. Who is now shaking as she attempts to stir her mother from her endless sleep. Who is now as burnt as he is. Without another thought, he wraps her up in his arms and shields her eyes from a sight she will never unsee. He tries not to think about the sticky warmth that is now soaking through his parka, as he steps back out into the unforgiving white._

_He stumbles forwards and away, still clutching his daughter to his chest, as her tears and wails grow. The village rushes by them, but he drowns out their words, their touches._

_Only Sokka returns him to the moment, and when he extends a tentative arm, the young boy rushes forwards, fear etched into the creases of his face._

_As Hakoda holds them close, stroking their hair, rubbing their backs, his tears fall to mingle with theirs, and he speaks softly, only for them to hear--_

“It’s okay, son. It’s okay to hurt.”

Slowly, he feels the Fire Prince ease in his embrace. As if making up his mind, though, Zuko suddenly clings to him, and the sob that escapes him is guttural and deep. 

**Bending Not Breaking**

A croak makes Aang jump. Intuitively, he knows that the badgerfrog only wakes up once the sun has risen, but when he pulls the shift of a blanket over him, he squeezes his eyes tighter and pretends that the sun is not in the sky. 

If the sun is not in the sky, then Zuko won’t be up. 

If Zuko isn’t up, then he won’t have to--

“Aang!”

The call is harsh and unforgiving, and when Aang opens his eyes, he can see Zuko’s gold-trimmed boot tapping impatiently.

With a sigh, Aang rights himself, using the heel of his palm to crush away the remnants of sleep that crusted at the corner of his eyes. 

“I still don’t get why I have to get up when you do…” He knows his tone is petulant, but he finds he really doesn’t care.

“I get up at dawn, Aang.” Zuko glowers down at the still sitting Avatar, arms crossed over his chest, flicking his head to highlight the sun’s position in the sky. It’s long past the dawn. “You don’t get up when I do.”

With a turn on his heel, Zuko stalks away, even as he throws a command back over his shoulder. 

“20 hot-squats.”

“But I didn’t do--”

“Exactly.” 

Before Aang can complain more, Zuko has rounded the corner and is out of hearing range.

With another heaving sigh, he draws himself up, and begins his set of hot-squats.

**In/Out**

He knows it was unnecessary. His tone was sharp and unrelenting. The words on his tongue were scalding, his posture unyielding. But Zuko finds that his already thinning patience is dissolving like mist in the morning sunlight. When he has found the boy running off to chase after Teo and the others, he would follow with smoke on his heels and drag the boy back to training. When Zuko found him goofing off with a different bending practice during their hours of hard work, he would douse him with water or shoot a fireball under his air scooter, and then add a few more positions to the katas.

And when the boy slept in long past his hours, Zuko would rouse him and add a few more hot-squats to his morning exercises.

Zuko has not given up so much for the boy to take his training so blithely.

This morning is no different, and as such, he settles down in the training area, legs crossed, hands resting lightly upwards, at the edge of the precipice. Just two nights prior, he had stood here, he knew, and roared against the world. And as it all came tumbling down, a kind father held him, soothed him.

But now he reaches deep inside himself, stirring that ember in his belly. 

_In_

Morning air, fresh, new. 

_Out_

Stale energy, old, rotted.

_In_

Sunlight, the smell of green.

_Out_

Dark, mold and mildew.

_In_

Pain, loss, guilt.

_Out_

Fire.

**Rising to the Occasion**

The mist is to be expected, Azula knows, as she feels the cold prickle of it against the open skin of her face and hands. She is not happy about her hair though.

_(You have such beautiful hair.)_

The damp always makes it hang limp, and she knows it would stick to her face in weird ways. She is hopeful that maybe some heat will relieve it of the moisture stuck in it’s strands. Raising her fingertips to the long tendrils that cling to her cheeks, she draws gentle heat to them.

_(You should have Ty Lee recomb your hair. She always does a lovely job.)_

It’s the smell that catches her, but it is too late. The tips of her hair fall away, leaving burnt and jagged edges at the frame of her face. She’s aghast. So many years of training- something as simple as warming her hair- all useless now? This is the sort of thing people who are out of control do. She’s not out of control. 

_(Oh, what a shame, you should go to the Royal Spa. I’m sure they’ll fix that for you.)_

A huff escapes her, and she glares at the charred edge now taunting her across the bridge of her nose. The other voice is familiar, but she can’t quite name it-- with the gentle dance of hairs across skin, Azula can almost close her eyes and imagine the soft touch it belongs to. 

_(Azula! Did you find a pair of scissors again? Quick, let’s get you to the spa before your father returns.)_

With a shake of the head, she banishes the cacophony of memory and present, as her war balloon rises from the fog like a mythical dragon. Before her, a flash of red catches her attention. An angry cry, a question of ‘why’--

_(I do wonder if that young Mai is ever going to catch his attention. She seems quite keen--)_

\-- and her only response is to roar. They meet red to blue, yellow to purple. And as they fall, the voice is no longer the familiar stranger’s, but her own. 

_(Why is it him? Why does he matter so much? Why don’t I matter that much?!)_

The anger shifts in her and she uses it to fuel the fire at her feet, her hands. 

_(He doesn’t deserve it.)_

She pulls the firebrand of her right to rule from her hair,

_(He never has.)_

Embedding it into the heart of stone,

_(And I’ll make sure he will be the one to fall. Not me.)_

She clings to the metal, digging into her flesh. 

_(Only the weak fall.)_

She stains it red with her own blood.

**Mid-Air**

Fingertips dig into his forearms as he is pulled from the foggy abyss.

Appa’s saddle feels like a homecoming, and he kneels low into the supple leather. A hand clutches at his shoulder, but his eyes are on the solitary figure plummeting into the very mists he had been snatched from.

“She’s not going to make it.” His tone is cold, distant. 

A twist in the air and a flash of blue. The figure rockets to the sheer cliff face, and a spark of gold slows her descent until she is a black figure perched at the side of the wall. 

“Of course she did.” Acrid on his tongue, he spits the words from his lips.

Molten eyes watch their assailant until the mists hide her from his gaze. Only then does he allow the spark at his fingers to cool.

**Trust**

It is only appropriate for Azula to be garbed in the mourning colors, while the Fire Lord retains the blood-red garb of his station.

Ozai watches with cold eyes as the procession led by the Crown Princess makes its way from the docks. Behind her, an open bier is carried upon the shoulders of the royal guards, their skull masks gleaming white in the midday sun. The beginning of a crisp autumn breeze winds its way across the main road, releasing a few strands of Azula’s hair, allowing them to dance across her features.

Ozai frowns.

Between Azula’s brows, a furrow creases the skin, and for a moment she glowers at the rebellious hairs. Quickly catching herself, she smooths her expression, returning the mask of royal dignity and propriety.

Ozai’s expression releases.

Behind her on the bier, the once stoic childhood friend of his children is as somber in death as in life. Her traditional dark robes traded out for white, rimmed with gold. Her pale features are ashen, but as sharp as ever. All the marks of Azula’s blue-white death are either masked under white robes or washed from her cold skin. 

The formal line is that she was struck down in the prison riots of the Boiling Rock, valiantly saving the life of a member of the Royal Family. There is no more explanation, but there is a new line on the bounties for Zuko’s return: 

_Wanted for Murder._

**Fool Me Once**

The sky is clear, Yue shining down at half-light, her pale gaze dancing across the tumultuous sea beneath Katara. 

If ever she could breathe fire into the dark skies, tonight would have been the moment. There’s molten blood in her veins and she can feel the tug of it even in the waning moon cycle. That’s how she recognizes his arrival, the beat of his pulse, the tide coursing through his body.

“What do you want, Zuko?” Her words are biting. 

She had been the one to reach out to him, to pull him into Appa’s saddle. She had been the one to reach out and offer to heal his scar. She had been the one to offer help while his uncle struggled to regain his breath.

She had been the one to threaten him, if he so much as breathed the wrong way towards Aang. 

There is a reason for the pain behind her eyes and the steel in her words.

Katara waits for him to speak, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Everyone else here seems to trust me. Why can’t you?”

The fire in her veins sparked behind her eyes. 

“Oh, _everyone else_ seems to trust you, huh? Well, I was the first one to trust you, remember?” She’s spitting vitriol at him and while he doesn’t flinch away, he also doesn’t retaliate. Katara decides to remind him exactly where and when he failed. “Back in Ba Sing Se, remember?”

Eyes closed, he sneers for a moment, before his face falls. When he reopens his eyes, he meets her gaze sincerely. “What can I do to start over with you, Katara?” 

A flash of lightning is behind his look, and she can almost see the silhouette of the somber girl in the heart of it. Her resolve stutters ever so slightly, but her indignation flares in retaliation.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe you could retake Ba Sing Se in the name of the Earth King.” Blue eyes flashing, she rounds on him, getting up close. “Or maybe you can bring my mother back!” 

She moves to brush past him, allowing her shoulder to make solid contact with his, but despite the startled expression on his face, he moves to grab her arm. Tugging, she tries to withdraw from him, a scowl on her face.

“What do you want, Zuko?”

“This has _got_ to stop.”

Stilling, she glances up at him, her brow pinched. 

“What do you mean?” There’s still bitterness in her voice.

“I mean that I won’t sit here and keep being a punching bag for something I don’t understand. I think I’ve taken enough hits..” With a dismissive wave, he indicates his scar, and Katara flinches slightly. “So we’re going to talk now.” 

He releases her arm, and she takes the freedom to wrap them around her waist, glaring at him. 

“Katara, what does your mom have to do with this? What happened to her?”

A long stretch of silence passes between them, and yet she refuses to meet his eye. When she finally did speak, it was quiet but steady. It’s a woeful tale, and hears the familiar pangs of a sorrow that he knows so well. She speaks of the man who ended her mother’s life, the only firebender she had known before Zuko, and he begins to understand. To understand what trust she had given before, and just how much damage he had caused when he broke it. There’s also a sense of desperation as she speaks- it’s as if she’s begging him to understand her anger, anger that she had long denied even herself. As her story neared its end, she risks taking a glance up at the Crown Prince. 

He is standing stock still, his hands clenched into fists, his gaze pointedly at the grass just before him. Like a bruise blossoming on her skin, regret starts to build in her chest. Slowly, his amber eyes rose to meet hers. A similar ache is reflected back at her.

“What do you remember about the men who killed her?”

“I- I don’t know what you want to know.” 

“Anything that can identify them.”

“... Sea-ravens.” Her voice is soft, and she drops her eyes, pulling at the threads at the edge of her memory. “The banners were of Sea-ravens.” 

“The Southern Raiders. I know how to find them. And I’ll help you do it.”

Her gaze pops up to meet his, and she is surprised to find the same kind of conviction that she feels in her heart. Something in that look told her that maybe - just maybe - he understands more than she realized. With a nod, he turns back towards the camp, his back ramrod straight. There is something at the tip of her tongue, the edge of her teeth, but she can’t quite bring herself to say it.

**Cracks**

The pale, fading moonlight highlights her disheveled hair, her blood red sheets tangling up her legs. She attempts to free herself from their grasp, but finds them tightening further around her body, like one of the commoner toys that Ty Lee often found herself so fascinated with.

_“See, La La! The more you pull against it, the tighter it gets on your fingers!”_

_Amber eyes rolled at her friend, but Ty Lee chirped cheerfully. “How do you think you get out of it?”_

_A sigh made it’s way past manicured lips._

_“I’d just burn my way out.”_

_A beleaguered sigh escaped the third companion, her voice a listless drawl._

_“Big surprise there.”_

The sound of Mai’s voice, as clear as if she was standing beside her, shoots Azula from the bed. Sheets trail after her, tripping her up, and she falls to her hands. 

Frustration licks at her insides, and she roars as she twists away.

“Don’t let me go, I see.” She hisses the words at the sheets, at the phantom still at the foot of her bed, and the painting of her family in the corner. 

A flick of the wrist, and blue flame lick their way up the cotton sheets.

The cry goes across the palace quickly, and soon maid servants are filling her room, attempting to douse the hungry flames that lick up her bedposts. The ash that wafts down smelled of sweet fire lilies and burnt blood; tickles like a mother’s kiss.

Azula stands alone as the servants buzz about, watching the tongues of fire wrap around the carved wood, and like that stupid little trap of Ty Lee’s, the more they tried to put it out, the more it grew. In the dark shadows cast by the inferno, Azula realizes with a start that she isn’t alone.

Across the room, still waiting at the foot of the bed, a dark figure clad in white and gold, sneers at her. Her lips move, and without having to hear her, Azula knows what Mai said.

_“Pathetic.”_

__

**Resolution/Revenge**

Where the rain had soaked into his clothes, he welcomed it’s chill. He had been running hot, his mind following his lineage, following the line of blood that wasn’t their own. From the merciless death of Katara’s mother, to the devastation of the Air Nomads, to Li’s brother Sensu, their lives, their blood, ran like a raging river, from a singular spring.

That spring blossomed at Sozin’s feet.

His family is to blame. His blood. His heritage. 

They had killed literally thousands. Destroyed families, ended inheritances, traditions. Whole ways of life were in tatters, if not ash and scattered to the wind. Katara was just a very visible, very loud reminder of it.

He drops his head, even as he holds Appa’s reins steady. 

She is quiet the whole ride back, and he is certain she has fallen asleep. His suspicions are confirmed when they land on Ember Island. Gently, he grasps her shoulder, shaking her gently.

Blue eyes blearily blink away the confusion. 

“Zuko?”

“I brought us to Ember Island. It’s as good of a place to hide as any, and we can actually sleep in real beds.”

“We?”

“I’m going to go get the rest of the group.” He looks away, considering for a moment before quietly continuing. “Figured you might need some time to get your thoughts together.”

Sitting up slowly, she nods to herself. 

“I think that would be nice.”

With a quick jump, he lands hard from the saddle, and he offers a hand up to her. She takes it unhesitatingly.

Giving a quick tour of the house, he moves back towards Appa, mind already on how he is going to convince the rest of the group.

“Zuko?”

A brow rose, and he turns back to her.

“Yeah?”

“Do you… Do you think I did the right thing?”

A thoughtful expression slips over his face, and he rests his chin in his hand. 

“How do you feel?”

“Tired. Frustrated. Maybe even like a traitor.”

“Why?”

“Because my mom deserves to be avenged and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He was right there,” tears are in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks, a quiver in her voice, “and I just couldn’t do it.”

Stepping forwards, he rests a hand on her shoulder. 

“Why couldn’t you, Katara?”

“Because I didn’t want to become like him.”

A corner of his lips quirk for a split second. “Then I think that you found the answer.”

He is met with a watery smile, and he nods once before turning back to Appa. About to mount the air bison, he is stopped again as her words came gently, but steady, to him.

“I’m sorry about Mai.”

It is the first time she has acknowledged it, and he feels the last piece fall into place. There’s a flash of kinship, of shared trauma, and he recalls Yon Rha cowering before her. He remembers the fire at his fingertips for her justice. He remembers the awe he felt when she walked away. His mind conjures the image of Azula in his mind, and he prays that he might have the same control she had. Again, he turns away, but sucks in a deep breath before responding to her. 

“When it’s time for me to face down Azula, to have her face the same justice…”

“I’ll help however you need me to, Zuko.”

A sharp nod, and he turns back to Appa’s reins. “Thank you, Katara.”

“I think I should be the one thanking you.”

**A Father’s Concern**

The fire flickers shadows across the dark corners of the throne room. Alight, the raging flames of the Dragon Throne is an intimidating sight to behold. Only slightly more daunting is the silhouette backlit by the roaring blaze.

Li and Lo kowtowed at the feet of their Lord, faces pressed to the ground.

“I am greatly concerned over Azula.” His tone is lofty, rising over them like a gathering storm. “Ladies, you have been her advisors for many years. Where does this discord within her lie?”

Faces still to the ground, the twins share a glance. When they speak, their words weave like a sinuous cord, two voices wrapped into one strand.

“The Crown Princess' discord began after her time at the Boiling Rock—“

“—where the noble Lady Mai fell, and the traitorous Ty Lee betrayed them.”

The shadow shifts, and a thoughtful voice creeps over the flames.

“Is it your opinion, councilors, that she is currently unfit for rule?”

Li shuffles slightly and Lo shoots her a petrified glance. Simultaneously, they suck in a breath.

“It is.” The cord they wove with their words felt like nooses around their necks.

**The Worst on Display**

It is uncomfortable, yes, even disconcerting to see all the events of the past year on the stage before them. The terror of seeing the play near the events of Ba Sing Se settles uneasily into Zuko’s stomach, and he shoulders the guilt of his betrayal — sees it from the eyes of those around him now, those he would now call his friends, his uncle, and tries to breathe through the pain. It pales in comparison, however, as he watches the show near the events on Boiling Rock.

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder as he watches the actress portraying Mai step forward, preparing for her next part, and he sucks in his breath, steeling himself for what is sure to come. And yet, what he is expecting is not what he sees unfolding. 

‘Mai’ is standing at attention, prepared to fight, but she pauses, turning to ‘Azula’. ‘Azula’ nods, and ‘Mai’ springs into action, her exaggerated knives flinging towards the awkwardly designed gondola. With a yell, the actor portraying him flails in a strange mimicry of firebending, a red ribbon flinging across the stage towards ‘Azula’. 

Zuko’s brow furrows, and he feels his breath coming hot. This is not how it all played out.

He watches in dawning horror as ‘Mai’ throws herself in front of ‘Azula’, taking the brunt of the cloth. 

‘Ty Lee’ bolts forward, as if to jump for the gondola, only for the guards to snag her back. ‘Mai’ is in his ‘sister’s’ arms, gasping for breath, as she offers a stilted traditional bow. 

Her words come soft, but projected loud enough for the audience to hear.

“Why, Mai?” ‘Azula’ cries out.

“Because- Because I loved you, loved the Fire Nation, more than I feared Zuko.” 

And with a shuddering breath, the actress portraying Mai falls still. ‘Azula’ lets out a tortured cry.

He’s swirling, spinning, the world doing flips around him. A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, but it does nothing to stop the world’s tumult.

“Zuko?” Katara’s voice is soft, concerned.

From behind him, Sokka speaks. “Buddy, you need a breather?”

At the sibling’s words, he comes plummeting down to earth again. Vaguely, he is aware that he has not taken a breath. When he tries to pull one in, it escapes him just as quickly. The hand on his shoulder moves to his wrist. Clenched at the fabric of his cape, his fists are letting off tendrils of smoke between his fingers.

Obtusely, he recognizes that he is losing control, and brings his thoughts back to his inner flame, trying to breathe it down.

But the air is thick, the scent of incense and cheap pyrotechnics makes him gag. Unable to bear it any more, he shoots to his feet.

“I need some air.” 

As he leaves, he misses the worried look Sokka and Katara share.

**Propaganda**

It’s the smell of smoke that draws her to the balcony. The rise and fall of his shoulders tell her of his attempt at control, but the smoke still escaping his clenched hands on the railing tells her of his faltering grasp of it. 

“Zuko?”

“Please leave.”

“If I do, will you be okay?”

A long pause stretches between them, but she takes the silence as her answer and steps forward tentatively.

“Sokka told me some of what happened.” Her words are soft.

“Good for him.”

“Zuko.” There is a subtle chastisement in her tone.

He sighs. “What is it that you want, Katara?”

“To help.”

“Don’t you have enough people to help? Shouldn’t you be off helping Aang fetch his fruit, or getting Toph to bathe?”

She bites back a sarcastic response, but instead places a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“I want to help you, Zuko.”

Eyes dark, he rounds on her. “They used her death, Katara.”

She nods, but stays silent.

“They made her into a martyr for Azula. Like she didn’t help me. Like she didn’t-- didn’t--”

He seems to lose his words, and he looks out over the balcony edge again. 

“Like she didn’t die to help you.” Katara’s words are soft, like an offering.

Hands clench again at the railing. Her hand tightens on his shoulder. In the silence, she contemplates what Sokka had told her, comparing it to what she had seen on the stage. So much had been an exaggeration, a strangely twisted telling of their stories, but as she compares that corrupted retelling of Mai’s death to the rest of the play, she finds her stomach souring.

For in that one broad sweep of the brush, they have taken Mai and cast her as the Fire Nation’s hero, and taken their own Crown Prince and labeled him ‘murderer’.

**Aang Alone**

It’s as if a dream, when they wake up in the morning, the sunlight streaming in past open windows, glittering off golden accents. All seem dazed, as if the events of the nights prior were a half remembered dream. The awkward silence, followed by the panged expression on Zuko’s face when Katara had emerged with his father’s childhood image. The frustration from Aang as he tried to reconcile what he knew was evil: Ozai, and yet, also killing Ozai, and what he knew was just: survival from Ozai, and yet, also Ozai’s survival. The subsequent retreat that the Avatar pursued, choosing to meditate alone, to achieve some sort of internal balance.

When Katara had moved to follow, Zuko had stopped her. He knew the pain of warring wills in the heart. A simple understanding passed between them, and she had acquiesced without protest. 

But now, in the bright morning light, something is amiss. Zuko is the first to recognize it, early to rise, but is unable to pin it’s source. When Katara joins him, she’s still bleary eyed, but begins to prepare the morning meal. His meditations aside, he joins her in preparation.

“Have you seen Aang this morning?” Katara’s voice is still rough from sleep, but her knife stays true as she slices through the fruit.

“No. But he doesn’t wake up when I do.”

She snorts a small laugh. “No one wakes up when you do, Zuko.”

A small smile tugs at one corner of his lips, but he sobers quickly.

“I guess I’m just surprised,” her words come softly, “since he usually wakes up when he starts to smell the food cooking.”

They share a significant glance at the pot stewing slightly on the kamado in the center of the kitchen. The fragrant smell of the rice congee had filled the room, and was no doubt curling it’s way into the nearby bedrooms, hopefully stirring it’s occupants to activity.

As the rest of the group pours forth from their rooms to meet the day and the food, one door and one bowl sat mysteriously still. 

Zuko and Katara share a glance, and his lips pressed into a firm line as her shoulders rose to her ears.

Sokka takes the morning to display his swordsmanship to Suki, but it’s not until Katara’s searched her part of the house, and is sitting at the head of the stairs with Suki and Toph, that Zuko emerges from the other half. 

“He’s not here.”

“Where could he have gone?” Suki is the first to react, her desire for action keeping her ever ready.

The siblings share a look and Sokka is the first to sigh, but Katara is the one to break the silence that descends.

“You don’t think he would have…?”

“He’s done it before, Katara.”

“Sokka’s right.” Toph joins the conversation.

“But it’s right before the comet!”

“What?” Zuko cuts through them, his brow furrowing. “What has he done before?”

Katara sighs, sagging. “Leaving.”

“What do you mean, ‘leaving’?” His words slip from his lips like a hiss.

“He leaves. When he’s stressed and doesn’t know what to do.”

“He does _what_?!”

“I know. We don’t like it either.”

“How many times has he done that??”

Her knees pulled up to her chest, Katara rests her chin on them, arms wrapped to pull them close. “Too many.”

Zuko looks up and considers the rest of the group, eyes skipping from one to the next. Sokka’s lips are pulled tight. Toph is kicking at a rock, a frown tugging at her expression. Beside Katara, Suki’s mouth is agape. He feels the frustration well inside him and he tries to breathe it back down, before finally letting a slip of flame pass between his lips. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closes his eyes.

“Okay,” the words escape sharp and tight, “what now?"

Silence fell over the group, and he furrows his brow at it. Opening his eyes, he finds them all staring at him.

“What?” 

“Well, you are kind of the expert on tracking Aang.” An almost apologetic look is on Katara’s face, but she plays it off with a shrug. 

“Let’s check the rest of the island.”

**Best Laid Plans**

The sun is starting to set when Ozai hears the huffing palanquin bearers echoing across the large expanse. An orange glow is cascading across the heads of the soldiers, throwing long shadows from the tall standards emblazoned with the Fire Nation’s symbol. He stands tall at the top of the stairs, bathed in the golden light from the sun. 

A hurried sound of boots on pavers, rhythmic and fast, bounces through the ranks of soldiers. Lips pulling down, he scowls at the fading light. They pause a respectable few steps down the way from him, and he casts an eye over his shoulder to see his daughter stooping into an appropriate bow. 

“Sorry I’m late, Father. Good palanquin bearers are so hard to come by these days.” She casts a disparaging look over her shoulder at the men who have yet to raise their eyes or their bodies from where they are kowtowing in the courtyard. “So, is everything ready for our departure?"

He doesn’t spare a glance at her, his face a mask of indifference.

“There’s been a change of plans, Azula.”

The stillness that comes over her is palpable, but he steels his expression into something amenable. After all, the Fire Sages are watching.

“What?” Azula’s voice is small, pained.

“I’ve decided to lead the fleet of airships to Ba Sing Se alone. You will remain here in the Fire Nation.”

“But…” Her voice fades. “But….”

“Don’t mumble.” Ozai’s voice snaps like a whip across her back, and he can hear her shuffle again, still in her kneeling position. He hears her suck in a breath. 

“But I thought we were going to do this together.” It’s sharp words, frayed at the edges.

He can’t help the scowl that grows on his face. “My decision is final.”

A scrape of feet and he knows she’s standing, waiting for him to turn to her. “You-- you can’t treat me like this.”

His scowl deepens, but she trudges on, unaware.

“You can’t treat me like Zuko!”

His son’s name on his daughter’s lips feels like a dagger in between his ribs. Rounding on her, his eyes spark.

“Azula, silence yourself!” Ozai’s words hiss from hot lips and she cowers slightly. He frowns as he hears his own words ricochet across the courtyard and back to him.

She surges back, eyes sparking to match his.

A tendril of hair has broken loose of the constraints of her topknot. 

“But it was _my_ idea to burn everything to the ground! I _deserve_ to be by your side!” There’s an unnameable look in her eye, something bordering on the line of desperation and hate.

He leans into her desperation, and softens his tone.

“Azula. Listen to me.” Placating, his tone is soothing like a warm blanket, and she backs down. “I need you here to watch over the homeland. It’s a very important job that I can only entrust to you.”

Eyes so like his own, soften and melt. Her voice is childlike as she responds eagerly.

“Really?”

“Yes, Azula. After all, we don’t know if your brother or one of his traitorous friends will attempt some sort of foolishness while I’m away.”

He sees a flash of something in her eyes, and not for the first time, Ozai wonders what exactly happened to _her_ childhood friends.

“Yes, I see what you mean, Father. It is wise, even if I do so wish to see your victory.”

A curve of his lips and he turns fully to her. 

“Don’t worry, Azula. You shall see the rise of the Fire Nation. But not the FIre Lord.”

Confusion passes over her face, clouding her eyes. 

“I don’t understand.”

“The title of Fire Lord is both archaic and no longer fitting for the rule of a world conqueror. Fire Lord Ozai is no more.” The twist in his lips grows into a large grin. “Just as the world will be reborn in fire, I shall be reborn as the supreme leader of the world.” 

His words cue the Fire Sages who are waiting patiently behind him. Shuffling forward, they remove the unnecessary symbols of his previous station, and replace them with something new. In the fading sunlight, his new visage casts a long and intimidating shadow. 

Deep in the heart of the shade he casts, Azula stands wide-eyed and trembling.

“From this moment on, I will be known as the Phoenix King!”

Around them, the cheer goes out, as banners with his new standard crested upon them are raised, overshadowing the symbols of their predecessors.

**Preparation is the Key to Success**

In the shuffle of the dawning morning, the Order of the White Lotus’ camp is alive. The Grandmaster has laid down his plans for the Order and coached the young people into their respective roles. It was startling for Zuko to see the assuredness of his Uncle in this role. For a moment, he was actually able to imagine the sort of general he must have once been, and the young Fire Prince shudders. 

He’s actively packing his sack now for a third time, still unhappy about how it sits, when Katara appears at the entrance of his uncle’s tent. When he casts his gaze back over his shoulder, he finds her settled against the post arms crossed. Suddenly, he’s struck with the memory of her at his doorway in the Western Air Temple, breathing threat and anger.

Then she looks up, and a small smile plays on her lips. 

“So, Zuko. We get to go after Azula.”

“Yeah.”

He returns back to his pack and hefts it once more over his shoulder. A scowl starts in his brow. It still isn't laying right. With a sigh, he drops it again in front of him, and begins the arduous activity of unpacking his sack.

“Are you okay?” The playful tone she tries to strike at first has fizzled, and now her words are laced with concern.

“No.” A forceful sigh escapes him. “No, I’m not. I’m about to face down my sister who killed my ex-girlfriend.” 

His repacking actions grew harsh, hardly more than shoving his clothes and toiletries into the bag. “Oh, and have I mentioned that she decided to tell the world that I was the one who killed her?”

“Zuko…”

He could hear her step forward, but he stands up, using a hand to brush away her concern, moving towards the entrance she is currently standing in front of.

“I’ll be fine Katara. Just--” he pauses directly in front of her, meeting her eye. “Just keep your end of the bargain.”

She steps away, letting him pass even as she answers him. “Of course, Zuko.”

**The Sun is High (Over the Agni Kai)**

As the Avatar’s sky bison lands in the empty courtyard, Azula steps out of the dark shadows. Zuko doesn’t see this, of course. Her lips curl into a sneer.

_Azula, I do wish you would play with your brother._

She shakes her head, trying to cast the voices from her head. Amber eyes watch as he turns to the peasant girl- the Avatar’s waterbending teacher- as she slides from the bison’s saddle. His brow is furrowed, and with a few shared words, he’s scanning the darkened porticos of the palace. He searches the shadows as if looking for a ghost. 

_We do play, Mother. Zuko just doesn’t like the games we play._

Stepping forward and out of the darkness, she smirks.

“Well, hello there, Zuzu!”

With a snap, his head turns to her, sliding easily into position to defend. 

“Azula.” The hatred in his tone forces her a step back as if hit.

_Then why don’t you play some of the games he likes?_

“Hello, brother.” Her veneer is slipping, she can feel it, and she frantically pulls it up as if a too-short blanket, attempting to cover her face, but exposing her feet. “I guess Father was right to expect you here.”

“I’m here to stop you.”

“Stop me from what, Zuzu?” She throws a wanton hand about, drawing attention to the desolate courtyard. “What exactly do you expect?”

His eyes sharpen, and he steps forward, his hands still locked into a defensive and ready position. 

“After what happened with Mai,” the words are spat out, bitter, “I don’t know what to expect.”

Her head drops, staring down at the puddle that is at her toes. In it’s reflection, she can see her mother peering over her shoulder. Azua’s eyes burn, and she wonders what that means. She tries to blink away the pain. 

_Why is it always what Zuko wants?!_

“Why, Zuzu?”

His hands drop minutely. 

“Why what?”

Her eyes blur, and the figure in the puddle ripples away. 

“Why did she do it?”

Pained eyes raise to his, and the look that passes between them is a little bit of understanding. Slowly, his hands drop. 

“I don’t know why Mai did it, Azula.”

“She--” her mouth runs dry, “she said it was because she loved you more than she feared me.” Confusion clouds her face. “Mai never feared me. Ty Lee did, but Mai never did.”

A cautious step forward, and his brow is furrowed.

“Mai was always good at hiding how she felt.”

With those few words, memories she held come rushing back to her in a flood. Now, though, they are tainted by something new; that Azula never really saw Mai. In fact, Azula wonders if anyone really ever had. 

No. No, she refuses to believe it- Azula is excellent at reading people. She knows how they ticked. How easily has she gotten into Zuko’s head over the years? In Ty Lee’s? No, she knew Mai. It must be Zuko who is wrong!

_Why is it always Zuko?!_

A roar escapes her, and she jolts forward, blue fire at her fingertips. The time for discussion is over, and she writes out her pain as embers across the courtyard, even as the sky erupts in the celestial orange. The comet is like lava in her veins and she aches to relieve its burning from her body. 

Zuko matches her blow for blow. 

The peasant girl watches in horrified fascination as the space around them dances in firelight. 

She is nobody’s entertainment, and Azula wants to be certain the girl knows that. A well-directed flash of over-heated flame licks it’s way to her, but Zuko draws her attention away before she can watch the desired conclusion. She glances back to find steam where her flame once was, and the scowl on her face deepens. 

Breaking away from Zuko, she finds herself skittering to keep upright, across the courtyard from them. Her hair has broken loose, and she glares at the strands flickering across her face. Through their curtain, she sees the watertribe peasant run out to meet Zuko as he pants the pain away. The look between them stirs something unidentifiable in her chest, and feels the twist in her chest again. 

_Why does Zuko always get what he wants?!_

She bends with the twist, letting her hands turn in opposing circuits. She feels the fire spark into something white hot in her fingertips. 

_Why does everyone love Zuko?_

His good eye widens at her motion, and she smirks. He knows, and she’s happy he does. He should be afraid of her. They all should be.

And then his fear stills. Calmness seems to settle in his bones, and his body shifts into a stance she’s never seen before. Her lips sneer. 

No, not Zuko. 

_About_ Zuko. 

Golden eyes shoot to his side where the girl of water and cool, ice and white, is standing, her eyes solely on Azula’s brother. _She_ has fear in her eyes. 

_Good_.

The sizzle is in Azula’s chest, and with a cackle, it escapes her. 

As quickly as it does, he’s in motion. When he makes contact with the blue white of Azula’s contrasts, his feet are far off the ground and his body twitches in midair. 

He falls. 

_You fall._

**A Simple Count**

He’s counting. 

_One_ : it hurts, sharp, like a knife in his chest. No, like a thousand small daggers in his chest. His lungs rebel in the pain, and he can’t seem to remember how to breathe.

_Two_ : When he remembers the second breath, he has time to remember who he is. Zuko. Crown Prince of the Fire Nation. Traitor and banished son of Ozai and Ursa. Loved and dignified nephew of Iroh, Dragon of the West. Tortured brother of Azula. Friend of the Avatar. Friend of Katara, of Sokka, of Suki, of Toph.

_Three_ : Katara. She was hurt; he helped her heal. Now he is hurt. Was she hurt too? She promised to help him heal. 

_Four_ : There’s water. He can hear it. There’s fire. He can smell it. Where the contrasts meet, steam brushes his skin. When he can almost breath without thinking about it, he tries to move, to turn over and see what he can do to help. The motion triggers the pain again. This time it’s scattered, sharp daggers down his arms, his legs. He manages to roll on to his stomach, and open his eyes. 

_Five_ : She’s skating on ice, and it’s something more beautiful than he remembered. But water is on her hands, and fear is in her eyes. She’s calling out his name, and he’s reaching to her. The skittering pain is now in his fingertips, before rapidly trying to return to its source in a mad rush. He can no longer keep his head up.

Six through Ten are used to remember to breathe. He forgets for Eleven and Twelve.

_Thirteen_ : Her hands are at his shoulder, behind his head. Gently, mercifully, she turns him slowly over, his name once more on her lips. At least, he thinks it’s his name? Things are starting to get blurry. 

_Fourteen_ : Cold water is pressed against his chest, and he is reminded of his first plunge into the icy waters of the poles, not even a year prior. In contrast, he recalls the green, warm grass in the middle of the icy-blue glaciers. As he opens his eyes, he sees the Oasis again.

_Fifteen_ : “Thank you, Katara.”

“I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

**Psyche**

“She’s been pacing about the room, My Lord.”

“Does she ever rest?” 

“I- We haven’t really seen it. We occasionally find her asleep, but it is usually in one of the corners of the room.”

She can hear them talking. They’re different from the ones that follow her paces. 

_You should rest, my dear._

Her scowl deepens.

_Keep that up, and Ty Lee will tell you that your aura is getting dingy. Whatever that means._

Azula hears the door creak open, but refuses to look at it. She already knows who it is. 

_You should be nicer to your brother._

“Why, Mother?!”

“Mother?” His words are soft. In that moment, she can hear him again, as he stood over her in that courtyard, his chest alight with the ragged scar she had placed there. “You’re talking to Mother, ‘Zula?”

Her amber eyes roll before settling on him.

“No, Dum Dum. I’m talking to my broken psyche.” Her tone is cutting and sharp.

He doesn’t say anything, but watches her with pitying eyes. His words from the day of Sozin’s Comet are fluttering up from the past. Words of anger, hurt. Words spat out of revenge, of justice for Mai. But they had quickly faded, his tears falling at the same pace as hers. 

“By the way,” her tone now flippant, “can you stand somewhere else? You’re standing where Mai usually glowers at me from.”

As if startled, he jumps away slightly, only for his cheeks to pink at the action. Her eyes roll again. 

“Oh, get over yourself, Zuzu. It’s not like she’s a ghost. I’m just insane, remember?”

Her candid words leave him speechless, but he holds himself upright, and he sets his jaw.

“Would you prefer if I came to visit you more often?”

A laugh escapes her, frantic and loud. Through the guffaws, she chokes out her response.

“Why? Why would you come visit me, Zuko? No, I think I like my ghost’s company better.”

His lips press into a thin line, and he nods once, moving to leave. 

_Why do you have to be so mean to him?_

His hand on the door, he pauses. “Who do you see, Azula?”

One finger points towards the general area where Zuko had stood. “Mai.”

Another one points at the empty vanity. “Mother.”

“Maybe I’m going crazy too.” His words are soft, not meant for her ears, but she responds to them anyway.

“Why?”

“Because I wish I could see them too.”

**Catharsis**

Zuko steps out of the Jasmine Dragon Teashop, three cups left on his tray.

He’s not surprised to come across the two on the balcony, nor to see them embracing. He is surprised, however, when they break apart with matching looks of melancholy. Katara’s hand is on Aang’s shoulder, and she says something he can’t hear. Aang nods sagely, before offering up a small smile. She returns it readily.

Zuko turns, suddenly recognizing his accidental intrusion upon a private moment, only to be drawn back by Aang’s chipper call.

“Hey, Sifu Hotman, is that tea for me?”

Characteristically, Zuko’s hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

“Yeah, it is.” A grimace pulls at his lips as Aang bounces up the stairs, seemingly not as worse for the wear as Zuko expects. “Sorry, buddy, I didn’t mean to intrude--”

“You didn’t! Katara and I were just talking about the future, you know?”

He hears the rustle of her green dress as Katara nears, a gentle smile on her own face. 

“The future?” Zuko pries, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Yeah.” The smile on her face carries easily in her voice. With a slight bow, she gestures to one of the cups on his tray. Zuko nods, meeting her hand half way with her tea. “Sometimes life doesn’t quite lead you the way you expect. Sometimes it’s for the better. Other times, it’s for the worse.”

“That's…” Zuko feels his lip twist sardonically. “... covering all your bases, I guess.”

Blue eyes roll at his words and Aang grins. Katara presses on.

“I mean, think about it. If I hadn’t gotten mad at Sokka, Aang would still be in the iceberg. If you hadn’t stood up to your father, Aang would never have learned firebending. If Aang hadn’t nearly died, he wouldn’t have made it to Crescent Island and we would have never known the connection between you two, which means he wouldn’t have been ready to accept you into our group.

“So, all those bad things that happened, even the really awful ones, led us to where we are. Sometimes that means that things don’t go the way we want them to, or at the time we want them to happen,” Katara gives a significant look towards Aang, and his face shifts into a sad smile, “but we can’t control it.”

Silence falls over the three, and Zuko shuffles slightly in the middle of it. 

“Huh.” He finally breaks the silence, one brow raising. “So, you guys _aren’t_ dating?”

Even as Aang guffaws out a laugh, Katara backhands his arm playfully. 

“All that, and what you get is that Aang and I aren’t dating?!”

The commotion catches the attention of the other young people in the teashop, and Sokka is the first to make his appearance.

“What’s going on out here?” His voice is the closest facsimile to Wang Fire as he can make it with a massive grin plastered across his face. He throws an arm around Zuko’s shoulder. “Is this mean, old Fire Lord giving you trouble, sis?"

A wicked grin pulls across her face. “Terribly.”

From behind him, Suki’s quiet voice is like a deadly whisper. 

“Guess we’ll have to do something about that.”

Once upon a time, he thinks, that would have set him to turn, fists raised, ready to defend himself from the onslaught he would have been certain to be expecting. Now, instead, the laugh that bubbles from him only leads him to shrug off Sokka’s arm, and turn to Toph. 

“Save me from your friends.”

“Oh no, Sparky, not going to happen-- they’re your friends too.”


End file.
